


Tea Then

by littlerumbird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlerumbird/pseuds/littlerumbird
Summary: A domestic moment, Rumple & Belle awkwardly trying to repair the many challenges of their relationship. Takes place a few weeks post-underworld, in my AU world where Hades doesn't have a claim on their child's life.  They're living in the pink house, working through it with Archie (although he doesn't appear in this fic).





	

It was nearly nine thirty in the morning by the time Belle made her way downstairs, and a fresh blanket of snow was steadily coating the lawn and street. She knew the library would have few, if any visitors today, but it was the best she had felt in… weeks. Since before they had gone… and come back. Rubbing her arms to ward off a chill at the thought, she reached the ground floor, grateful for both the warmth and sturdiness of her boots.

She had yet to hear the car port open, but Rumple was… elusive as usual. His bedroom door—their bedroom, she silently corrected—had been open when she wandered down. Slowly she became aware of the scent of baking bread coming from the kitchen. Her hand went to her slightly swollen belly in reflex, but she was surprised to find she didn’t feel the expected twinge of nausea. In fact, her stomach grumbled slightly.

Well, library or not, it could wait until she had something to eat. Perhaps a sensible to tea to be very sure things were settled before she tried food. Rumple would wait for her to eat. He’d carefully tried to pass along meals for the past three weeks, plying her with small snacks whenever she felt she could manage it.  
He was there, in the kitchen, and strangely not in his usual suit. Instead he was clad in a pair of trousers and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up over his elbows, and an apron. 

“Ah, good morning,” Belle greeted quietly, walking toward the cupboard and reaching up for a cup and saucer.

“G’morning,” he echoed, sprinkling a dusting of flour across the counter that rivaled the snow. A mound of dough followed, and his lithe fingers began to knead steadily “Is the scent bothering you?”

“Hmm?” she asked, shaking herself slightly to push aside the memory of those fingers working knotted muscles in her shoulders and back after hours hunched over old archives in the library. It was hypnotic to watch him the knead bread.

He paused, giving her a long look as he repeated, “Is the scent bothering you?”

“No,” came her slow answer, and her eyes lifted to meet his and held there for a long moment. There was so much between them, so much unsaid. She wasn’t even sure she could dredge up all of the things to say, wasn’t sure there were enough words in all of her libraries combined. “I, ah… thought I would try breakfast… and then go into town… with you. That is, ah, to the library today?”

He shook his head slightly as he added the faintest bit of flour to the dough in front of him. “No one is going to be out today.”

She turned toward the window, trying to determine if there was something unique about today’s snow. The last time snow shut down Storybrooke, it had heaped in great mounds, and the temperatures dropped far lower than the soft blanket of white outside. “Is there… something unique about the weather today?”

Rumple gave another head shake as he deftly folded and pushed the mound away from him again, working in an easy rhythm. “Today is a holiday. They call it Thanksgiving, and it’s a tradition from this world. Everyone stays home and eats a large meal together. Turkey traditionally, but I thought chicken might be more palatable… and we won’t be eating it for weeks.”

Belle gave a nod of agreement, remembering something she'd read about British immigrants and indigenous peoples sharing food as she poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle and took a seat at the bar stool. For a moment, she was caught between memories, even if the seat was different from that of the Rabbit Hole. It was too much of Lacey, and it wasn’t a good feeling. She slid from the seat.

“Belle?” he asked, stepping from the dough and moving toward her.

She blinked up at him, confusion on his face telling her that she was frowning. “I hate these chairs. Stools, that is.”

“A…alright,” came his careful reply. It only took him a moment’s pause before he was gently guiding her around the island and picking up one stool. Rumple quickly hauled it to the back door, opening the door, and gave a quick heave before it thumped out onto the ground. Before she could frame a response, the matching stool followed the first, and he deftly shut the door and turned to regard her. “Wretched chairs, I never used them anyway.”

Something like a scoff, or maybe it was a laugh, tumbled out before she realized, and Belle found herself staring at Rumple, her husband staring back at her. They seemed to be doing that quite often these days—regarding one another.

“Did you… want to keep them?” he finally queried.

Belle bit her bottom lip and brushed a loose curl from her face. “No… no, not at all. They… they reminded me of Lacey,” she admitted.

His eyes widened a moment, and he settled for a nod. “We can find something else… or skip new stools altogether.”

“Maybe… maybe we can focus on today’s meal for now? On today… together?”

“I’d, ah, like that,” Rumple agreed. “The bread needs to rise a bit… maybe tea then? While we wait?”

She stepped a little closer, glancing toward him and feeling something like shy as she reached for a cup and handed it to him. “Tea then,” she echoed, giving a small smile as his hands carefully wrapped around hers, cradling the cup.


End file.
